Even in the Darkest Night
by Roeschen
Summary: While Lily is forced to watch her son grow up under the care of Voldemort, desperation and fear never leave her, yet the love of a mother is strong and Lily knows that she would do anything for her child...
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Even in the Darkest Night

**Author: **Roeschen

**Summary:** While Lily is forced to watch her son grow up under the care of Voldemort, desperation and fear never leave her, yet the love of a mother is strong and Lily knows that she would do anything for her child...

This story is a prequel to the main story "In the Darkness" and a sequel to "Light in the Darkness". Those stories should be read first. Otherwise some things might make no sense.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter but I own my story!

* * *

**Chapter 1 **

Cautiously I hold the little bundle in my arms. I look down at his tiny face, stroke lightly as a feather over his rosy cheek, listen to his steady breaths. Nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming love I feel for this helpless, little being. His eyelids flutter, but he doesn't open his eyes.

The coldness that had me unrelentingly in its grip the last months slowly diminishes. Even the hot summer days could not drive away the icy feeling that had settled in me. But now warmth returns to me, embraces me like a protective blanket.

His nose twitches slightly and I smile as I press him to me; a little wonder I still can't fathom wholly. I slowly bend forwards and graze his forehead with a kiss. Such happiness and joy he brought me already and yet...

I tear my gaze away, and look over to the window. Though there are no iron bars I can't forget where I am, where _we _are. Before despair can seize me, I turn to my child again.

"Harry," I whisper.

"And I _will_ call you Harry."

I'm helpless as the memories assault me. With a shudder I try to suppress them, but I do not succeed. His cold voice still rings in my ears.

"Harry? That's no name for my heir."

And after a brief moment of consideration, he had added,

"No, his name shall be Henry."

He didn't touch my child first, nor took him into his arms. Instead he regarded Harry as one would a product to ascertain whether the quality was good enough to purchase it. Apparently he was pleased with the result I think cynically and remember his short nod.

But the next day he had returned. Once again I live through the instant, where I caught sight of the knife in his hands. Weak from the birth, I had not been able to rise, had to watch helplessly as he bent over the cradle. And while horror paralyzed me, he cut with the silver blade into a tiny finger, collecting the droplets of blood in a small vial. Harry's crying let me forget my fear.

"What are you doing?" I screamed at him.

He barely glanced at me.

"He is my son. You need not fear that I would ever harm him. He'll be my heir and thus I will see to it that he has the allegiance of those who I chose to serve him," he said.

And as he regarded my baby, a deep satisfaction crept into his eyes, a silent triumph.

Tears want to well up in my eyes as I, for a fleeting instant, imagine how it should have been. And Voldemort's face changes to James'. James would have held my hand, would have encouraged me. How much easier the birth would have been with him at my side? Together we would have rejoiced at our child. James would have been overjoyed. He would have hugged Harry close and would have showered my little one with all the love he possessed.

His dark brown eyes would have sparkled and told me how much he loved us.

The longing for my thoughts to be true and not a desperate dream is so overwhelming that it nearly rips me apart. Tears burn in my eyes. A sob wants to escape me. But I remain silent. I do not want to wake my baby. And I will not. But now the tears flow freely over my face. James, I scream silently. Oh, what would I not give if he were here with us. If I would feel his strong arms around me; if we were home.

Exhausted I sink deeper into the cushions, vowing that I will never again wish for things to be different, never to think how it should have been. There is no use, I know.

It would destroy me. With one hand I rigorously wipe away my tears. Blinking, I stare into the semi-darkness. The sun has set already. Soon the night will fall and I pray with all my might that he will not come tonight. To be forced to tolerate him near Harry...

I grip Harry's tiny fist, hold it in my hand. And the knowledge that Voldemort sees his son in Harry causes me to shiver to the core and the icy coldness that I so hate threatens to surround me once more. Again I recall his mysterious words. I dare not to imagine what he meant and for what purpose he needed Harry's blood.

I kiss Harry's tip of the nose, his fine black hair. I know that it has been the right decision. Yet a doubt remains. Though now it is far too late. On that one night where despair overwhelmed me, I could perhaps have killed me and thus Harry, but whatever the future might bring, I know that now, after seeing my child, holding him in my arms, nothing would ever get me to hurt my son.

I gaze at his little face, feel his breath against my cheek as I bestow a kiss upon him.

_I will protect you from him; I will never let him hurt you. For you I will endure everything. _

I have to. I have no other choice and I know that no power of the world would bring me to break my silent vow. As I survived the previous months for Harry's sake, so I also will survive those to come. To lose myself in memories will neither help me nor Harry.

I finally have to realize that I will never again leave this castle. But regardless of how many times I have told me, a part of me still fights to accept it, still clings so desperately to the hope that somehow a miracle will happen and Harry and I will be rescued. That someone will bring us away from the Castle of Death, away from Voldemort. Yet such thinking is futile. While holding Harry in my arms and staring into the darkness, it becomes a certainty.

No-one will save us. Nor is there a way to escape...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

"Come to me, my little one," I softly call.

The autumn leaves rustle as Harry stumbles towards me, barely keeping his balance, but he is laughing, his emerald eyes shine with happiness. I kneel down and stretch out my arms. Finally he reaches me. I pick him up and swing him through the air. As I come to a halt, I kiss him, but he struggles against my embrace. I obey and set him again on the ground. He is eager to learn since he made his first attempts to walk.

He strides through the colourful leaves. If he falls, he doesn't cry. Instead he laughs. Seeing how some leaves cling to his clothes and unruly hair, I hear myself laughing, too. I raise my head towards the sun. Though summer is long gone, I still sense certain warmth on my skin.

Inhaling the fresh air, I feel as happy as I have not for months. And it is so good to be able to laugh again. The heavy burden I carry has left me alone for a merciful moment; grief and sorrow are forgotten for the time being. I look around for Harry and I freeze. My laughter ceases immediately and nearly suffocates me. I hold my breath as my gaze locks with his. Voldemort regards _me,_ I think as I fight against my fear. I try to read the expression flickering across his face, but it is in vain.

Something collides with my legs, a voice calls for me. As if I were in a dream, I bend forwards and draw Harry to me. I bury my face into his tiny shoulder. With trembling fingers I collect the leaves from his hair.

When I look up, he is gone. But the joy I felt has vanished, turned to cold ashes. But for Harry I force myself to smile. And while playing with him, I refuse to think, whether it has been desire I have seen in those cruel, red eyes.

As the light of the day fades, I walk back towards the castle, towering in front of me; an impregnable fortress. Involuntarily I tighten my hold on Harry, who is lying tired and heavily in my arms. He mumbles something into my cloak. He can't talk properly yet, but recently I manage more and more often to guess the meaning of his words.

I recall the day when he said 'Mama' to me for the first time. A memory I will forever cherish and the warmth that is spreading out in me causes me to halt. For an instant I remain standing on the spot and just look at him. Only after a while I begin to walk again.

Returning to the chambers Voldemort has given to me, I find tea and biscuits on the table. When I enter the room, two little house-elves bow. I greet them and Harry waves at them. Peeling Harry off his warm coat, I provide him with some biscuits and his bottle and then sat him on his favourite blanket. Binky and Diri, the house-elves, join Harry and help him to actually eat the little biscuits and not to scatter them in the whole room.

Sipping my own hot tea, I walk over to the window and lean against the wall. Watching how the leaves are blown in all directions by the wind, my mind recalls Voldemort's expression. He hasn't touched me since it became apparent that I was pregnant, yet I can't shake off the certainty that he will come to me this night.

Suddenly a thought occurs to me and I sway as weakness seizes me. How I succeed in holding onto the cup I can't say. Hot tea burns my fingers, but I don't pay any attention to it. I sink into the next best arm-chair, hear my hasty breathing.

The happy giggle of Harry who thankfully didn't notice anything causes me to turn my head. My gaze falls on the house-elves and a flicker of hope rises in me. While Diri continues to play with Harry, I call Binky to me. The house-elves helped me much since I came here; bringing me blankets for Harry, bottles, cuddly toy animals. I felt more comfortable to ask them as Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange.

Yet I hesitate to speak now. But then I ask Binky whether she could bring me some herbs. She thinks for a while and finally nods. Hiding my relief, I look at her.

"Will you be able to keep it a secret?"

Once more she ponders my question. Giving me a little bow, she says,

"If no-one will ask Binky about it, Binky will not tell anyone, Miss Lily."

Thanking the house-elf, I wait for her return. I know I can trust her and Diri; my secrets will be as safe as they can with them. I do not ask wherefrom she took the herbs, as Binky returns, nor do I tell her to what purpose I need those herbs, but I give her a grateful smile. I work quickly, my hands tremble, while I cut the herbs into little pieces. Over and over again I cast glances to the door. Should any-one come...

Voldemort and his most trusted followers would immediately know for what the herbs are used for. At last, the potion is finished. The taste is bitter, but never would I willingly give birth to Voldemort's child.

Sitting in the arm-chair I watch Harry playing with the house-elves. I'm glad that the little creatures have taken Harry into their heart. And Harry adores Diri and Binky. I can't help than to smile. A strange peace fills me as I savour this little moment of utter joy. Gratitude I also feel. Without those moments, snatched away from the ever surrounding darkness from time to time, my life would be unbearable.

Approaching steps shatter the dream of happiness. The house-elves, always alert, look up. They bow to Harry and me and in the next instant they have disappeared. Harry gazes around him, completely bewildered. If the door had not opened, I would have laughed, as Harry stands up and rather confused searches for his play-mates.

The Dark Lord steps into the room. I rise, yet I do not look at him. He glances at me, but then his attention turns to Harry.

"Henry," he calls him.

Harry stares at the tall wizard in front of him, but afraid he is not. Curious and trusting, he stumbles towards him. I bite my lip as Harry raises his arms, demanding wordlessly to be picked up. It takes all my willpower to remain motionless as Voldemort complies with Harry's wish.

To see my son in his arms is even harder than to give myself to him. And Harry doesn't cry, nor does he wriggle in his embrace. He is just content to be held. A sight, that hurts me deeply as I am forced to let it happen. Unable to do anything...


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

Watching the butterflies flying from flower to flower, memories threaten to rise in me. Almost I can see myself standing in the garden of Godric's Hollow. I close my eyes and wonder if someone is taking care of the garden I so loved. Then I fiercely shake my head.

There is no point in wallowing in the past, I tell myself sternly. The past is irrevocably over.

Turning my attention again to Harry, I smile as he picks up a little branch. He kneels on the ground and begins to draw something into the earth. I suppress a laugh as I notice the deep concentration on his little face. I crouch beside him. He has written his name. The letters are rather clumsy, but recognizable. Not even five years old, I think proudly. But Harry is a bright child and so I recently started to teach Harry letters and numbers.

Harry gazes up at me with shining eyes.

"Look, my name," he says, expecting praise.

"Well done," I reply, and then I laugh, hug him and rise with him in my arms. Harry squeals in delight as I swing him around. He clings to me and I do not want to let go of him. Out of breath, we fall into the grass. Giggling, he embraces me. I feel his kiss and I fling my arms around him, savouring the feeling to have Harry so close to me. How much I wish for time to stand still, but Harry, never having been very patient crawls over to the flowerbed and reaches for the stick again.

"I'll have to show father," he says and admires his work. My smile vanishes immediately. As I speak, my voice is soft.

"But before you do that, you'll have to learn some more letters."

And reluctantly I take the branch from him and write 'Henry' into the brown earth. I know Voldemort would not rejoice if he learned I called my son Harry.

"That's the name you will show your father," I say, and as Harry looks at me I silently heave a sigh. Seeing the confusion on his face, I can't help as to think it would have been probably better to accept the name Voldemort chose. But I rather risk his fury before I'll call my son Henry. So I remind Harry that it's nothing unusual to have more than one name. As he came to me the first time to ask why his father called him with a different name, I asked him to keep 'Harry' secret. So far he has done it.

Harry is overjoyed as he finally manages to write 'Henry'. I force myself to smile, while oppressing the sudden urge to wipe away that name. I start as Harry unexpectedly jumps up and races across the lawn.

"Aunt Bella, Aunt Cissa!" he shouts.

I remain frozen on the ground. My hands grip the soft fabric of my cloak so hard that my knuckles turn white. Seeing how Harry returns the affection of Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy is hitting me hard whenever I see them together.

_What a lovely child, and so intelligent. _I make a face as I recall Bella's words she exclaims in various variations almost each time she sees Harry, preferably in the presence of her master. To know that I can't do anything to prevent Harry from seeing Bellatrix and her sister fills me with helpless fury. I do not dare to think about Harry actually _loving_ them.

When Harry finally returns to me, I have to listen to him as he tells me everything his aunts told him. I say nothing; only run a hand over his unruly hair.

"Are you sad?" he suddenly asks and stops his flow of words. His emerald eyes regard me worriedly. Sometimes Harry is far too observant.

"Come. Let's return to the castle," I say as brightly as I'm capable, but the image of Harry talking happily to Bellatrix and Narcissa doesn't want to leave me alone.

Taking his warm hand in mine, I feel cold despair seizing me. _What shall I do? _The knowledge that Harry loves Voldemort, the two sisters and their husbands haunts me. He considers Voldemort his father, the others his family, not knowing the truth, not knowing who he really is.

This afternoon I find it hard to concentrate on Harry. I'm glad when Binky and Diri come to us and play with Harry. I need a bit time to think.

As I bring Harry to bed later in the evening, I look at him seriously. Still I hesitate, but I know that time is valuable. Taking a deep breath, I begin to tell him about Hogwarts, about James, Sirius and Remus, about three boys who called themselves the Marauders. Peter I block out of my thoughts with all my might.

I try to keep my voice light, but to recall the past hurts me deeply, even more to put it in words. As his eyes flutter closed a while later, I kiss him goodnight. Yet I quietly remain sitting at his side and look at him. I marvel how big he already is. It seems only yesterday that I held a little bundle in my arms. Tenderly I brush a strand of hair out of his face. And suddenly I can't breathe anymore.

Tears burn in my eyes. Once more reality catches up with me, crushes me. I fight against it. How I dread those moments that flare up from time to time. As often I might tell myself that I've resigned myself to my fate, deep inside me a part just refuses to abandon hope, to stop believing that perhaps I'll find a way to escape. But I know there is no way out of the castle.

_For Harry_, a voice whispers in me, _you have to be strong for Harry._ Gradually I calm down, my breathing becomes steadier, though not for long.

As I hear the door in the adjoining chamber open, my heart begins to pound painfully. I rise and cast a last glance at Harry. Taking a deep breath, I tiptoe across the carpet, forcing my face to turn into an expressionless mask. Silently closing the door behind me, I lower my head, stare to the ground. I do not need to see Voldemort to feel his presence. As he orders me to come to him, I obey.

Occasionally I wonder how I endure it. Each night seems to take something from me, yet I know he will never be able to extinguish the fire burning in me. At least, I try to convince myself of that. But the fear grows stronger with each passing day and I ask myself: how long will it still take until even the last flame will die?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

Mourning that the summer is over I stand motionless beside the gnarled rose bushes. Even if it's already autumn and icy cold wind is tugging at my hair, I come here as often as it is possible for me. The rose garden has become my sanctuary. It is unlikely that Voldemort will ever find it. He ventures rarely into the park. Binky and Diri and a few of the other house-elves have guarded the garden with their magic. As long as no-one forces them to reveal the secret, my garden can't be found.

Dear little ones, I think. I never will be able to repay their kindness and help. They have done so much for me. I would have been lost without them. Yes, they helped me much though not even they can disobey orders they have been given. Bound to the castle they can't leave, despite their own magic. But even if, what would it have helped? I ask myself bitterly. The Order of the Phoenix would hardly risk attacking Voldemort's headquarters openly. Nor would Sirius or Remus be able to help if they knew of our whereabouts.

But how can I blame them? Wherefrom comes the anger I feel whenever I think of them? How can I reproach them, if it's my fault? I should have noticed that something was amiss on that one cursed day. I should have realized that it was not James. I should have…

_Stop that immediately, _I reprimand me harshly. It is not your fault. Nor James' or the Order's. It's solely Voldemort's and for an instant I drown in my hate.

"Mama! Mama!"

As Harry flings his arms around me, the hate vanishes from me, leaving no trace behind and such fierce love grips me that I have difficulty to breathe.

I have told Harry about the rose garden, even if I know the risk. Should Harry tell anyone, I don't know whether Voldemort would allow me to keep this garden. Perhaps he would. Harry loves this place and this garden would surely not help me to escape. But then it wouldn't be a sanctuary anymore and I feel it more and more often. I need a place, where I can forget where I am, where I can have the faint illusion that Voldemort is not able to find me. The dark walls of the castle crush me, suffocate me. Here, however, I can find at least a little peace.

"Look, what Lucius taught me."

Harry's voice jolts me out of my thoughts. He turns and then we both watch as the little stone flies into the air and hovers there for a while before it falls back to the ground. With beaming face Harry looks at me. I laugh and praise him, yet I can't suppress the feeling of rising dread. So fast, I think. How long will it still take until they will teach him dark magic? Spells which are used to hurt and torture? I considered Harry too young when Voldemort gave him his first wand, but obviously it makes Harry happy. For the time being the spells are still harmless, but this will, without a doubt, change one day. I shiver.

The coldness becomes worse. I hug Harry close to me, a warm shield against the approaching darkness. He is still so little, so trusting. But time is something that we do not have. My eyes wander to his wand. Since he got it, I know that I can use it. Harry would borrow it to me should I ask and he has indeed lent it to me a few times already, but I know I only dwell on wishful thinking. Even with a wand there is no way for us to escape. I can't break the magical wards, surrounding the castle.

"Do you know what? Aunt Cissa asked me to come to her today. I can play with Draco and some others."

Harry chats on. I listen and try to be happy for him. I know there are other children living in the castle, but so far Harry didn't get into much contact with the sons and daughters of the Death Eaters. I don't know, whether I should be sad about it or glad. Apparently Voldemort deems Harry's lessons much more important than any friends. For a six-year old, Harry has far too many lessons, but Harry doesn't seem to mind. He likes to be taught new spells and he is eager to learn new things.

After Harry has gone to the Malfoys in the afternoon, I sit near the fire. I've drawn my knees to myself and have encircled them with my arms. I fear to be alone. Save for the soft noises of the lively flickering fire, it is completely quiet in the chamber; a silence which becomes stronger from minute to minute. And suddenly my strength leaves me. I weep as I have not done for months. It takes long until I stop. Drained I try to get my breath back, wishing that

Harry would finally return. In his presence I have no other choice than to be strong. When he smiles, I know why I live.

Standing up, I go to the bathroom. I start as I see myself in the mirror. After having washed away every trace of my tears, I lean heavily against the washbasin. Then I return to the fire. My thoughts threaten to wander to the past and I leap to my feet. I will not remember. I know it is dangerous. The more often I dwell in the past, whishing with every fibre of my body Harry and I would be together with James, living in Godric's Hollow, the harder it is to face Voldemort and to live in this castle. Oh, yes, I know it only too well. Grimly I pace the room. I faintly smile as I see how worn the carpet has become in the course of the years. I do not know how many hours I already walked in the countless nights I could not sleep.

I stare at the carpet, visualize once more the pattern, though I have no doubt I could draw the carpet exactly to the last detail, should I attempt it. As the door opens, I whirl around. Relief seizes me. Harry runs to me and I enfold him in my arms. But his question causes me to freeze to ice.

"Mama, what's a Mudblood?"

I swallow; I have the odd feeling that someone hit me. Harry looks at me, waiting for an answer. Silently I sit down, gesture for him to do the same. Taking his hand in mine, I gaze into the flames.

How do you explain war to a small child? Riveting my eyes again on Harry, I'm at a loss of what to say. I can't tell him about the deaths, about the torture, can I? About the prejudices?

The cruel battles I've seen? The beliefs of the Dark Lord?

How can I destroy his life, his dreams? And yet, somehow I have to make him understand.

_Curse you, Voldemort. _Fighting against the rising desperation, I suppress the urge to scream. There are days where I am so tired, so exhausted that even Harry can't cheer me up, though I do all in my power to hide my despair from him. I've become good at it. Once, everyone could read my feelings while looking at my face. When I was happy I laughed, danced through the world with so much joy that my parents told me I would bring everyone to smile who came upon me: when I was sad I sat silently in a corner, alone and not wanting any company, and when I was angry I screamed and raged. The day, however, I realized that I was Voldemort's prisoner changed this completely.

Am I loosing myself? Do I forget who I am? Questions to which I dread the answers. _What have I only become? _

"Mama?"

I still hold Harry's hands, they are warm. Mine are cold; as cold as I feel. I see the uncertainty in his emerald eyes and force myself to smile. Even before I open my mouth, I've reached my decision. I will teach Harry _my_ beliefs. And I know that my fate is sealed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

The blinding light of the spell fades. I see the astonished eyes of Harry, hear his cheerful laughter. And even the Dark Lord has twisted his lips into a thin smile. As Harry jumps up and reaches for his hand, I force myself to remain calm and to not draw any attention to me. For an instant I close my eyes. Stepping into the shadows the magical candles throw, I sink against the wall. While fighting the sudden weakness, I can't suppress the hatred that is seizing me.

Helpless I watch as they begin to speak in Parsel, the language of the snakes. When Harry came to me with the snake he found in the park curled around his arm, I cursed James's ancestors. Voldemort was, of course, delighted. And since then he prefers to use that language whenever talking with Harry. Only the knowledge that it will help to ensure that he will never suspect the truth comforts me as I am forced to listen to a conversation I do not understand.

Harry eats his biscuits, but suddenly he halts and his gaze turns into my direction. Silently I walk forwards and kneel down. I slightly shake my head and Harry without showing any emotion looks back at Voldemort. My heart threatens to break. So far it has come already.

I know he will not ask me any questions. I have forbidden him. For the entire truth he is yet too young, I always thought, but now I realize that he has stopped to be the little naïve child long ago. Has he ever been it, at all?

Never has he told anyone our secrets. Had he done it, I would have been dead by now. Neither did he miss my subtle hints how to behave. Never did he question my order to treat me as I wouldn't be there whenever we aren't alone. Now it is still I who has the most influence on him, the power to form his character. Something the Dark Lord doesn't seem to realize.

But I do not doubt that he will. I have noticed the calculative glances Voldemort is recently casting at my son. I dread to think of what he intends to teach Harry.

As Voldemort has finally left, Harry comes to me and looks up at me.

"He told me about the Imperius Curse," he says.

"It is one of the Unforgivable Curses," I say tonelessly.

"Oh."

I watch Harry frowning and lay an arm around his small shoulders. I can imagine what he is thinking right now. I made him promise that he would never learn the Unforgivable Curses.

And while I try to keep my face impassive, I cannot help myself. So soon already! I think dismayed and freeze. For the first time in years my decision to do everything to prevent Harry becoming a dark wizard wavers. So far I have succeeded fairly well to not think about what will happen should I confront the Dark Lord, but I know there is no other way. I've known since that day I let go of the knife and decided to live.

Seeing how Harry becomes the heir to Voldemort…that is more than I could ever bear. And yet, thinking what I will be forced to do to Harry rips my heart apart. He loves his supposed father, his uncles and aunts, Voldemort's closest followers. My decision will cost Harry his happiness; it will be I who will cause him pain and grief. I am aware I will not survive should I dare to confront Voldemort.

My strength vanishes, I sank to my knees, hug Harry close. I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I suppress them with all my might. I can't break down in front of Harry. Never have I done it and never will I do.

"Mama?"

Though his arms encircle me, he draws slightly away.

"Don't be sad. I won't use those curses. I promised you," he says and suddenly he resembles James so much that fierce pain hits me; if James would only have known; if he only would have seen his son just once.

I force myself to nod, begin to tickle Harry. Soon he laughs and tries to lunge himself at me. How much I love his laugh. Exhausted we finally stop. His arms clinging around my neck, I pick him up. He yawns.

"I love you," he mumbles and I kiss his forehead.

"I love you," I say and set him on the window seat. Resting my chin lightly on his head, I gaze out of the window. My desperation returns with unrelenting force. Staring at our reflections, I silently sigh.

What will become of Harry when I'm gone? Who will take care of him then? Who will sing him to sleep? Who will watch over him?

And again I think to abandon my scheme, to do nothing, to just hope that we will manage to escape one day. This would be the easy way. I could ensure Harry's happiness. I would stay with Harry, the silent shadow, the loving mother. But would I keep my influence on him, were he to grow up with Voldemort as his father and teacher? Would he listen to me as an adult, a dark wizard, wielding dark magic? Or would he lose respect of the woman who is not allowed to use a wand, not allowed to leave her prison? A woman who is a Mudblood? Who never speaks in the presence of the Dark Lord unless he demands an answer?

My reflection in the window fades and suddenly I see Harry in front of me. He looks like James as I last saw him, only with emerald eyes. He gazes at me and I sharply breathe in.

All warmth, all brightness has disappeared from his eyes. Cold and full of contempt he looks down on me. The scene changes and I see Harry at Voldemort's side in front of the gates of Hogwarts, see how Harry raises his wand. I see him in the dungeons. Prisoners are kneeling before him and Harry tortures them and revels in their agonies. I hear his mocking laugh…

"You are still sad."

Harry's voice jolts me back to reality. Looking down, I shake my head. My hand trembles as I run a hand over his warm cheek. And I know what I will do. I know that I will seize the next opportunity. I can't wait any longer. As much as I loathe admitting it, the more time passes, the more likely I will convince myself that the best for Harry would be to wait and to do nothing. My strength to do what is necessary will dwindle and that I can't allow. I knew it from the beginning and raising my head, I stare at my reflection. He has not broken me, I think. Never will I submit to Voldemort's will, nor allow that Harry does it. I will not despair, nor stopping to hope. And the love I bear Harry is my staunchest ally.

"I'm not sad," I say and pick him up.

In front of the fireplace we make ourselves comfortable.

"How can I be sad, knowing that I have you? Come. I'll tell you a story."

His eyes light up. He loves the stories, just as the secrets. And yet he has no idea how much it hurts me to know that he doesn't understand the truth completely yet. But one day he will. While he eats his supper, I tell him more stories. And though I am not hungry at all, I force myself to eat a little, too, determined that Harry shall not notice my anxiety. When it is time for him to get to bed, he begs me yet for another story. I smile and send him first to the bathroom. As he returns, now clad in his night clothes, I wrap him into a blanket and we sit down again in front of the fireplace.

In my arms he falls asleep. My hand hovers above his face, without touching him I trace his features.

"No, I will not be sad," I whisper, knowing that the time that will still remain Harry and I is much too valuable. He shall not remember me being sad.

A quiet noise causes me to turn around. Diri has come to fetch the tray. I fasten my eyes on the small creature. Why haven't I realized this before? I wonder. Harry will not be entirely alone, after all. The house-elves will take care of him.

Feeling a bit comforted, I catch sight of Harry's little snake slithering towards us. She curls herself around Harry's wrist and for a brief moment I stare into obsidian black eyes. Harry doesn't wake and I do not move, thinking about the precautions that I have to take, to ensure that no harm befalls Harry when I challenge Voldemort.

And suddenly a strange calmness comes over me. A certainty that it was right what I did. Hadn't it been for Harry, my life would have ended that night, but I do not regret my decision to live. Even if it often went to the limits of my strength to forget my pride, to remain submissive while everything in me screamed to fight. And yet, would I have fought against Voldemort, he would have only taken Harry away from me and if I hadn't taught him what is right and wrong, who would have?

I look down at Harry's sleeping face. He smiles slightly. The knowledge that I will have to leave him soon, nor be there for him anymore, weighs down heavily on me. But never will I allow – not without trying all in my power to prevent it– that Harry becomes a wizard like Voldemort. It is the only chance I have, the only possibility to destroy Harry's love for the Dark Lord.

_And thus you will get your revenge;_ a voice whispers in me and I remain completely still as hate flares up at me once more. Yes, I want revenge for everything he did to me and yet I would have forgotten my thirst for vengeance if there had been a way for me to escape with Harry.

I love Harry more than I hate him. And while watching the dancing flames of the fire, I see his white face in front of me, his red eyes. _Never will I allow that Harry becomes as cold as you, as merciless and dark,_ I silently hurl at him. _Never will he be your heir._

Not being able to look into the fire anymore, I cautiously stand up. Cradling Harry in my arms, I go into his room and put him to bed.

After having tucked him in, I sit down beside him and begin to softly hum the melody of his favourite lullaby, hoping that he will understand one day, that he will forgive me one day for the grief and pain I will undoubtedly have to cause him.

Even if it's the hardest decision I ever had to make, I will not falter when the time comes. My love for Harry shines even in the darkest night and this love is brighter than anything else. Despair and hate wane. Instead a sad smile flits across my face and while the hours pass I watch over my child as I did so many previous nights ago and which I will keep doing each night that still will follow.

Until the end…


End file.
